


His Shining Season

by Ursula



Category: Jake and the Kid (TV 1995)
Genre: Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-24
Updated: 2004-06-24
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: A minor league baseball player has a moment in the sun and finds lasting love.





	His Shining Season

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Title: His Shining Season 

 

Author/pseudonym: Ursula 

 

Fandom: Jake and the Kid: Really just Nick Lea's 

 

Character, Tony Edwards 

 

Genre: Slash 

 

Pairing: Tony Edwards with Original Male Character 

 

Rating: NC-17 

 

Status: New 

 

Archive: Anywhere, as a complete story. If you have a constructive critique and wish to use a portion, contact me directly. 

 

E-mail address for feedback: Fan4Richie or Ursula4X@aol.com 

 

Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Tony and Robin appear briefly at the end of a long and happy life together in "A Garden Of Earthly Delight" 

 

Other websites: 

 

Disclaimers: Jake and the Kid is not my creation nor is Tony Edwards

 

Notes: Tony's a genuinely sweet character who accidentally seriously injures someone in a bar brawl. On his episode of Jake and the Kid, he had escaped with two other men, and strays onto the farm where Jake (a hired hand), Ben (the kid), and his mother, Julia, live. Ben's father died in World War two but was an amateur baseball player of some note. Tony gives Ben pitching lessons and they become very attached. Tony and Jake have long philosophical discussions and are on their way to a solid friendship. Julia thinks Tony is very handsome and compares him to her husband who was killed in World War 2. Ben's father was the star of the town's baseball team when it was the best team in the area. Now, it is a losing team, but Jake hopes to change that when he sees Tony practice his pitches in the barn. Tony is coaxed into playing. Then Jake hears a radio broadcast about the prison escape in North Dakota. He goes to Tony's room and finds him in a horrible PTSD type nightmare from his war experiences. He decides to let Tony make his own choice. 

 

Warnings: Slash, discussion of a prison rape.

 

Time Frame: 1951 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I walked out the prison door on a hot summer day. It was a wretched dry heat, pure misery for the men sleeping in pickups, in tin shanties, and under the stars. I thought I was heading north where I remembered a child's face, a friend's hand, and a home run. However, all I had was eleven dollars in my pocket, and a hole in my shoes. It was going to be a long trip back to Canada. 

 

Just another dusty town, I didn't expect to find any work, not the kind that brought in real money. Funny, if I hadn't ended up going to prison, I would have been as lucky as any other soldier sent home before the war was over. Now, thousands of soldiers were looking for work in a world that had learned to do without them. However, I was hungry and I would have been glad to work for a good meal. 

The Maryland town was drowsy in the sun. I didn't see anyone on the streets, and most of the shops were closed. Eventually, I came to a park. A familiar sound, the crack of wood caught my attention, making my heart race. 

 

Baseball, probably a kid's game, or maybe some local yokels, but still, I was nearly as hungry for the game as I was for food. There wasn't a lot that I was good at in life, running, fishing, gardening, picking out a little tune now and then, and playing ball. Those were the things I loved. 

 

One more thing I found that I was good at. War. Good at it, but I hated it. I'd wake up after some battle, and there would be blood on my hands, powder on my face, and they'd be telling me I took some machine gun nest or beat in some guy's head with the butt of my gun. I'd say nothing and they would all joke about the modest hero, but the truth was I didn't remember, not any of it. Not when I was awake anyway; in my nightmares I saw it all and I screamed my heart out. 

 

When I got home, it wouldn't let me go. I'd drink to sleep, to escape, but it didn't work. That place I'd go when the battle was raging around me followed me into a bar one night. The rest of the story you know. The medals of which I couldn't even stand the sight were the only things that shortened my sentence. 

 

Now, I wanted to forget. I wanted to pretend the war had never happen and to lose myself in the game. 

 

Damn, I was surprised to find it was a real stadium - a small one, but I could smell popcorn and hot dogs and hear the crack of the bats. Admission was only fifty cents, the price of a good lunch. Down to my last three dollars, my pride money that I was holding onto to buy clothes to apply for work if I could find someone who'd hire a man with my record. 

 

What the hell! I forked over the two bits and found a seat. The one I chose was near bottom of the tiers of seats; it struck me as odd that it was vacant given that it was a prime seat to watch the game. I looked up as a gentleman shadowed over me. He was holding a cardboard tray that contained two sweating cups of lemonade and two hot dogs. My mouth watered, as I smelled the fat, the spice, and the savory meat. 

 

Trying not to stare at the food, I started to get up and said, "Oh, your seat? I guess I should have known." 

 

"No matter, the friend who was sitting there has gone home. The sun doesn't agree with him," the well-dressed man said. "Sit down. Do me a favor and eat this extra hot-dog." 

 

White teeth flashed beneath a silly mustache. The man said, "My name is Robin Huntington, and who are you?" 

 

"Tony Edwards. Hi," I said. 

 

Hands suddenly full of a hot dog and lemonade, a close fought baseball game stretching out before me, the day had become pure gold. 

 

Feeling shy, I took in my newfound friend's appearance in small glances. I knew that the man had money. His suit was linen, and his shirt was a pale blue cotton that looked soft as dandelion fluff. He had dark brown hair, glossy and chestnut in color. His warm hazel eyes twinkled. He was tanned darker than I was although his skin was still smooth and supple. 

 

Huntington was tall as I was and a bit leaner in build. His hands were long fingered and elegant, something very obvious because he used them constantly to talk. He had high, sharp cheekbones, a full mouth, and a Roman nose that I might have found unattractive on a different face, but seemed to fit Huntington's almost craggy features very well. 

 

Uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since the last time I'd had a bath, I sat there and tried not to gobble the hot dog as if I hadn't eaten in a day and a half -- even though that was the case. It tasted great; mustard and relish spread over a warm crusty bun, and the plump hot dog glistening within. All too soon, I was dabbing at the mustard with the paper napkin. If I'd been alone, I would have licked at the spicy combination of sauces and grease. My stomach growled demandingly as if, once woken to its emptiness, it was not going to be content with the morsel that had been thrown it. 

 

Huntington snagged popcorn and another lemonade from a vendor, giving this to me without comment. I know that I should have had pride enough to refuse them, but I had lost some of that on the hard, hungry journey. Soon, the glow of satisfaction I felt from my filled stomach soothed any regrets. The game took most of my attention after that. 

 

My wealthy benefactor knew what the game was about. I forgot that he was a stranger; forgot my shyness; forgot that he was rich and I was poor. We traded statistics, exchanging our evaluations of great games that never had been played with the dream teams of our fantasies and enjoyed a quiet companionship that I had been hungering for since I had worked beside Jake. 

 

Something came bubbling up from my chest as I described the worst screw up I had ever seen on a baseball diamond. A barely bunted hit, the bases loaded, two players running headlong into each other as one took off in the wrong direction. It took me a moment to realize I was laughing and how good it felt. Robin's eyes sparkled as he broke up at my description. He laughed from his belly, letting it ripple and shake him, color his cheeks until they were pink. Seeing him, I laughed harder, feeling it rush through my body, and the last of my imprisonment left me. I felt the shackles fall away, and I had to look at the sky to see if one of Jake's hawks was flying overhead. 

 

After the game, I followed the man down to the field at his invitation; not even then realizing that I had been conversing with the owner of this minor league team. One of the players recognized me and said, "Robin, you know this is Tony Edwards, most promising minor league pitcher before the war." 

 

I blushed and the guy said, "Edwards, how the hell did you hear so fast that we needed a pitcher. Smart kid, you went right to the boss. So when are you going to start? How's that arm holding out?" 

 

When it finally sunk in, I was embarrassed at being so dumb, and I probably looked at Huntington like a dog looking at a good juicy bone. I wanted on that team. I needed to play again. 

 

"It's not the way it was before the war," Robin Huntington confessed. "The only way I keep my players is by working them double in the canning factory and as my team. I don't like taking advantage that way, but it's the times. However things are picking up now, and I expect that I'll be able to afford a real team soon." 

 

Yearningly, I said, "Hell, I'd work at both jobs for food and a chance to play." 

 

Huntington smiled at me and said, "Really? Well, if you are who they say you are, then I can do something for you. One of my best players was badly hurt in an auto accident. I hadn't replaced him yet. If you'd like to show your stuff..." 

 

It didn't take a play sheet card to get me with the game. Eagerly, I stepped up to the mound, losing myself in the trajectory of the ball, calculating the distance, factoring in the wind to send each ball smoothly into legal range yet fooling the batters so they wasted swings at balls that they would have sworn were sure hits. It all came back to me, the smooth wind up, the solid feel of the field under my feet, making the power come from the soles of my feet, up to gather in my spine, and finally finish with the smooth throw. I guess I would have kept pitching until my arm gave out, but Huntington stopped me after a few minutes. 

 

"You're hired. Start practice immediately and there's a game next week," the man said. 

 

"Yeah," I said, "Yeah." A big grin split my face, and I held out my hand. 

 

The way he held it a moment too long told me something I wanted to ignore. 

 

The funny thing was I'd never had a problem with that until prison. 

 

 

When I was a boy, the usual kind of things happened. Sharing a magazine that someone's dad had kept hidden. Little contests to see who could come first or last. Circle jerks where we all pretended that it didn't mean a thing. Only I knew that I didn't really think about girls when some guy's hand was fumbling on me. I just wanted something more, something I didn't even have the words to describe. 

 

Common sense kept me from doing much about that. There was one time before I got engaged though. He was a former major league player on his way out and I was the rookie pitcher on his team. He spent a lot of time teaching me the moves, first the ones I needed to know as a pitcher, and then, one night, some that were a hell of a lot more fun. 

 

Come to think on it, Jim looked a lot like Jake had. He had that long face, the lantern jaw, the sun creases at his dark eyes and smile lines around his eager mouth. He was long and lean all over. His hands were gentle and knowing - at least, he sure knew me before he was done. He was a good man, Jim. He gave me everything he could teach me before the first time he ever showed me what he wanted. And he waited until I was sober before he asked me. 

 

Hell if I know what I was thinking. Maybe just that I was twenty and horny. At first it was just a hand job, but then I let him blow me. Hell, I loved it. He worked me over like I was some fine instrument and he was the master musician. 

 

It was hot stuff for me, because he was experienced. I had never been blown before he went down on me. I wasn't a virgin, but the back seat fumbling that lost me my cherry wasn't too fancy. I mean, we didn't even take all our clothes off, and she was so scared of getting pregnant that I don't think she even enjoyed it. Kind of a disappointment for all the years of dreaming about what it would be like. So you know getting blown by someone who liked cock was a real revelation. 

 

It was playing to me. At least that's what I thought; no different from talking dirty and getting a hand job from another horny guy, both of you clear in your own head that it was really about women. 

 

Only, one day we were in bed, and he looked up from sucking my cock and said, "I love you, Tony." 

 

I was out of that bed so fast that it was like I was shot out a gun. At least, I didn't say what came into my head, but what came out wasn't much better. I said, "Jim, I'm sorry. I just can't feel that way about a guy. This is over tonight. I thought we were just having fun. I had no idea that you were serious." 

 

All the time I was talking I was putting on my clothes. I ran out of the room and spent the night in a bar, the first time I solved my problems that way. It was the end of the season anyway, and I went home to see my cousins and check on my dad. While I was there, I met Nancy and fell in love. Maybe, looking at it with hindsight, the two things had a lot to do with each other. Maybe I was trying to prove that Jim wasn't anything important to me. 

 

When I reported for training camp next spring, Jim wasn't there. He had volunteered. I was frankly relieved. With Nancy watching, I pitched the best game of my life the week before I got my draft notice. I had just finished talking to the major league scout, when I went back to my apartment and found it waiting. All I could think about was losing my chance to pitch with the big guys. I'd give anything to be that stupidly innocent again. Well, maybe not. I look back on that kid, and I don't like him very much. 

 

I thought about Jim a lot on my way over to Germany. Somehow in all that mess, I expected to see him again and tell him that I was sorry. I didn't hear until I got back that he had died in the Pacific. 

 

People treated me good when I came home to Cleveland. That was where I was born and raised, Cleveland, Ohio. They said that I was a hero, and Nancy said that she was proud to be my fiancee. I couldn't tell anyone about the nightmares that wouldn't let me sleep. That I saw the faces of the enemy, and the faces of my friends all mingled into one montage of terror. I dreamed of bodies blowing up, and blood coming down like rain. 

 

Over and over, I saw a German I shot. I pulled the trigger and then I saw he was a kid. He couldn't have been older than sixteen and he lay there screaming for his mama in between the two lines of fighting. I finally couldn't take it and I shot again just to make him shut up. Only, he never would stop screaming after that. The minute I closed my eyes I'd hear him again, "Mutter, hilft mir. Mutter, Mutter, hilft mir." " Over and over and over. I asked some one what he had said and they told me. "Mother, help me. Mother, mother, help me!" 

 

Before I went to prison, I was getting ready to marry Nancy. She was a good woman; the kind that waits for marriage. Our kisses promised the world, but she wouldn't let me touch her below her waist. I wasn't the kind of a creep who would go looking for a hooker to ease my needs. I had given in just one time to that urge when I was overseas. It had been a physical relief, but I guess I'm a bit odd. Even with Jim, it had been a relationship. I really had liked him, maybe more than I wanted to admit. Anyway, the hooker left me feeling empty, and I decided to wait until Nancy and I started our married life. 

 

First, my arm, wounded in combat, couldn't stand up to the pressure of the game. I couldn't sleep, and that made it worse. I remember the coach looking anywhere but in my eyes as he told me that the team couldn't use me anymore. 

 

I couldn't tell Nancy right away. I went to a bar first and got staggering drunk. She didn't want to talk to me like that. She tried to shut the door and I shoved it open. Her dad came out and threatened to shoot me if I didn't leave. He'd never thought I was good enough for her anyway. 

 

Next thing I knew she was handing me back my ring, handing me a temperance pamphlet, and telling me to find my peace in God. I couldn't say anything. Couldn't say a word. Just stood there like a big dumb animal, too stupid to fall down when the hammer split its skull. 

 

The whole next week I was drunk, playing the big shot and buying for everybody in the bar, bragging about being a baseball star, and how I was going to be bigger than Howie Pollet. Finally, someone took amiss to my bragging. I'd like to say that I screwed up my life because of something big, but I can't even remember what the guy said. I didn't remember hitting him, just waking up face down in my own puke on the floor of a jail cell. 

 

The judge gave me mercy because it wasn't premeditated, and the man hadn't quite died -- although it was touch and go all during my trial. I didn't have a record. He said that I should be ashamed of myself. The army should have made a man out of me. I just stood there and stared at my feet. I was ashamed and scared-- just as scared as I had been on the front lines. 

 

At first, it wasn't so bad. I was used to wearing a uniform, taking orders, and I was too numb to think about anything but the ruin I'd made of my life. 

 

My troubles started when I was assigned to the laundry room. It was hard work, but some of the guys liked it because the bulls stayed away from the area as much as possible. It was hot, steamy, and stinky though, and I was miserable at the idea of working there. 

 

I was pissed when they told me to report to the mick that ran the laundry room gang. He was a lifer, a real lifer, serving two or three life terms with no hope of release. Big Mike O'Malley spent a lot of his yard time lifting weights. His hairy arms sported muscles that were the size of baseball bats. The man filled a doorway when he entered it. He swaggered about on short, bowed legs like a rooster scratching in a hen house. He was a mass of prison tattoos, so many of them that his exposed flesh seemed all blue to the point you couldn't see the pictures or read the writing. I actually think he liked being in prison, because there wasn't another place under the sun where he could have been a big man. 

 

The man was a bully born and bred. The kind of guy that starts out in life clobbering some other kid to take his toy, moves up to stealing milk money and goes down hill from there. His jacket covered everything from robbing gas stations to extortion. He had organized crime ties, which kept him in cigarettes and booze. The laundry room gang was his mini mob. He even had guards in his pocket, and it was well known that he had a still somewhere that supplied the prison hooch that rotted your guts and had been known to kill a man or two when it was a bad batch. 

 

O'Malley had talked to me a time or two. He'd asked me about baseball and about maybe starting a prison team. I said that I wasn't interested. My heart was too broken to play, and it seemed wrong to bring baseball inside this festering dumping ground of the damned. 

 

If I hadn't been so damned miserable maybe I would have noticed him looking at me. Maybe I was just stupid. I knew there were young boys in that place who guys used for girls. I didn't think about it that they might not all have started like that. I just thought they were like Jim, and that perhaps doing time wasn't as hard for them as it was for me. 

 

The first day I worked in the laundry room, Mike told me to come and work with him in the folding room. This was the coolest place in the laundry. It had a small window, which was kept open for ventilation, and of course the laundry smell wasn't bad in the room. Off to the side, there was a room where the sheets were stacked for reissue. Mike took me in there, saying he needed me for some special work. He offered me a cigarette, but I wasn't much of a smoker and said no. Then he pulled out a candy bar and asked me if I wanted it. It was a good Hershey chocolate bar, and my mouth watered for it. Common sense kept me from taking the candy. I said there wasn't anything to do in the little room, and I started to walk out. 

 

Next thing I know, the man was all over me. He pushed me down on a mound of clean laundry and was ripping at my clothes, before I even had a chance to react. He outweighed me by forty pounds, and that wasn't flab either. Still, I had been an athlete and a soldier. I wasn't some doe-eyed kid he could intimidate. I was holding my own and managed to get up and head for the door. 

 

That's when he had his goons come in. Three of them, beating on me, punching me until I lay naked and barely conscious. I knew what was happening though when fingers pushed inside of me, smearing me with Vaseline. They knew what they were doing, and I wasn't torn up inside like some of the kids in the general population. When it was done, and I staggered out of the room, the guards put me in solitary for fighting. I knew it was no use complaining to anyone. I was locked up for three days with nothing but pain for company. When they let me out, I got a whole week for refusing to go to my work detail. I couldn't hold out any longer. Seems like a weak thing, not being able to handle being alone in that little hole, but you start going crazy after the first day or two. Eventually, you would do anything to get out - or else you just slip away forever inside your own head. 

 

Back on laundry detail, it was no use trying to stay away from Big Mike. Whenever he wanted me, his men would drag me in that room and strip me down for him. His big body would cover mine, and he would rut on me like a dog having his day. I remember his hands all over me; his voice telling me that eventually I'd be his bitch and be begging for it. 

 

That's why I ran instead of doing my time. It was a choice of breaking down and letting him destroy me or trading the same thing that he ripped from me by force to buy a shiv and kill him. Running was the clean choice. Hell, if I had been shot, it would have seemed like a mercy at that point. 

 

When they moved me up the line to a maximum-security prison following my escape, they couldn't understand why I laughed with relief. Doing harder time was easy as long as Mike O'Malley couldn't get to me. They only tacked on a year for the escape. I was a model prisoner, and they gave me good time. I had a new mouthpiece, and he helped me get an early parole hearing. Now, here I was, trying to decide whether my fear of Huntington was real or not. 

 

 

A swirl of chalk dust from home base seemed to write an answer for me. I was going to risk it. I looked in the man's eyes, and I didn't see a Mike O'Malley. Huntington couldn't help the way God made him, and I wasn't going to hold the actions of one scumbag against this man, whom I'm sure would have been horrified at my thoughts, if he had known them. 

 

Huntington asked, "Do you have a place to stay?" 

 

I drew a design in the dirt at my feet and shook my head, no. It was hard to admit that I barely had a change of clothes to my name. I had found a job unloading boxes for two days. The money, not much of it, stretched to buy me some used clothes at a jumble shop and to pay for a bed in a boarding home that was just above a flophouse in quality. 

 

"If you don't mind the extra work, you can room above the garage in exchange for running some errands for the cook and keeping the car clean and running. There's no kitchen, but I have a cook who would love to feed the world if I gave her a chance. There is a full bath though and the last man who used it said it was a good bed," Huntington said. He looked me full in the eyes and said, "You don't have to worry about me taking advantage. I'm not the kind of men who tries to work a man to death." 

 

That made me blush as I realized that he must have read between the lines. I nodded and said, "Sounds like a good deal. I don't have a problem with hard work, mister. I like to keep busy. As far as the car goes, I'm a fair mechanic. I can change the oil or tune her up for you." 

 

Huntington lived on the edge of town in a big house. Like a lot of folks, he had a flock of chickens and a couple cows. There was a big vegetable garden and even a few peach trees. It was a big house for a small family. His mama lived there, a beautiful lady still, with her graying hair in an old fashioned knot on her head. The cook was thin and wiry; kind of made me worry about how good a cook she was, until I tasted the chicken and dumplings we had for supper. Then there was Huntington's sister, Alexandra, another beauty. She was eighteen and spoiled rotten. 

 

Finally, least and last, there was George Weatherby. He was the vainest, most godawful lazy man I ever met. He was as pretty and empty headed as any beauty queen. He was supposed to be Mr. Huntington's secretary, but I couldn't imagine him being of any real use. He had black hair, blue eyes, very pale skin, and curly hair. His lips were really red. I found myself wondering if he used lipstick or something. They seemed unnatural with all that color. He had long eyelashes, not as long as mine, but still the kind that girls crimped and used mascara to try to achieve. He was thin and not very tall, sort of a wispy person, who appeared to enjoy being seen as delicate. He said he was a "painter" and I tried to act as if all the messed up splotches of paint I was shown meant something to me. Really, I'd seen better in a kindergarten! 

 

The dinner was interesting - what with Alexandra flirting, Robin trying to talk baseball, and George just complaining about being expected to sit on that hard bench and watch that boring game. Mrs. Huntington, Victoria, listened for the most part, but she said that she liked baseball too. She smiled and said that Robin got his liking from her not from his father. 

 

The cook and the other handyman, Todd Moore, ate at the table. Moore was an older guy, seemed as if he was mighty sweet on Victoria, but too shy to do more than stare at her. Jenny Cole, the cook, however, was bold as a blue jay. She had been working with the family since Robin was a few years old. She seemed to think he was the best there was. I could tell she didn't like George just by the way she sniffed as he picked at his food. Me, she grinned at, as I emptied my plate in record time. 

 

"You're the kind of man a cook loves to feed," she said, as she ladled another helping of chicken and dumplings on my plate. 

 

"It's the best I ever had," I said. It was. Her dumplings were fluffy and golden on top, moist and rich with chicken broth on the bottom. There were carrots, sweet little ones that must have been fresh from the garden, and new potatoes too. I don't know what herbs and spices, but whatever they were, they were just the right kind. It was exactly what I needed to forget the tasteless starch of the prison food and the jumbled taste of the mulligan stew I'd shared with some other hobos two days ago. 

 

Robin wouldn't hear of me starting work. He wanted to talk baseball, so we sat in the living room and drank good coffee, until not even that rich brew could keep me awake. He walked me to my room, and it was just like he promised, a sunny bedroom over the garage with a claw-footed bathtub and a separate shower. Tired as I was, that was going to be used before I went to sleep. Left alone, I stripped off my jeans and denim shirt intending to wash them, and I got in that tub to take the smell of the road from my skin. 

 

In the morning, I got up early. I was used to that. It was a Sunday, but I hadn't been raised to observe much in the way about it being a day of rest. The garage needed a cleaning, and I gave it one, ordering the tools and checking the car thoroughly before washing it and shining it. I had finished before Alexandra came looking for me. She sure didn't look like her brother. She was blond, blue eyed, and had her mother's complexion. Robin must have taken after the dad with his dark good looks. 

 

The girl was looking me up and down until I blushed. She was wearing a thin dress, and I could see her breasts moving beneath the fabric. No bra or slip...she was a wild thing, I could see that. She arched forward, emphasizing her cleavage and said, "Where did my brother find you? Have you known him for long? Are you really a baseball player?" 

 

Thinking about it, I said, "I came into town and heard the game. I guess I sat down in George's spot, and your brother struck up a conversation with me. Yes, I played for a minor league team before the war. I'd like to play again." 

 

"Oh, good, then you're not one of my brother's special friends. What a waste that would be," Alexandra said. 

 

I didn't know what to think. Decent women weren't supposed to know about such things. It made me feel sorry for Robin though. She must have added to his problems with her loose talk. 

 

"Breakfast is ready," Alexandra said, "That's what I came to tell you." 

 

It struck me that she had come to check me out and that was what she had done. I laughed though when her mother caught sight of her, sending her upstairs to "Put on some clothes!" 

 

Breakfast was pancakes and ham, big slabs of ham, and mounds of perfect round pancakes. It was the kind of meal you had to sit around after, and I found a good place on the porch. It was a porch swing, the kind I had courted Nancy on back in those better days. I sat there, happy to be free and wondering about her. I was sure that I'd loved her, but seems as if I would have fought harder to stay if I had. I guess if she'd loved me; it wouldn't have been easy to send me away either. Funny to think that if it hadn't been the war, we would be married now. Maybe even have some kids. I liked kids. Now I felt that I'd never have any. Never have a son like Ben. I still wanted to go back and see how he was doing. 

 

Brooding didn't do me any good. I didn't want to feel thirsty for booze, so I looked about for something to do. Miss Cole was weeding in her garden, so I knelt down and helped. I liked to garden. I used to help my mom that way. Miss Cole and I got to joking about this and that, talking about the rabbits that raided every spring, and what kind of peas she should grow. It felt good, and I knew I wanted to stay here and heal. She didn't look like my mom who had been a green-eyed Irish beauty, but there was something about her that reminded me. 

 

The afternoon I spent pitching to Huntington. He wasn't bad as a catcher, one of those players almost good enough to be a pro, but not quite. He knew it though and joked about owning a team being his way of getting in the game. 

 

 

My first week went by so fast that it was a blur. My job at the cannery consisted of delivering flats of cans to the shipping yards. I didn't even have to load them on or off. Mr. Huntington didn't want his pitcher straining his arm. The rest of the team worked at those kinds of jobs too. Not exactly make-work, but nothing repetitive that would screw them up as players. I tried to put in a good day's work, worrying about how the other workers felt about the team. 

 

Turned out not to be a problem. The town worshipped Robin Huntington. I think they knew that he was different, but he had magic. He had kept the post war slump from this small town and that was enough to make them not question any whim that he had. Besides, having a team -- a real team that played in uniforms and in a stadium -- made the town special. You could see their pride when they played that Saturday. I did good by them. 

 

My arm had come back to me somehow. Funny, when I tried to pitch after I returned from the war, it was as if my eyes had failed on top of the injury to my shoulder. The players on the team walked, and the owner who had given the war hero a chance had shaken his head and mumbled something about nerve gas or that the wound that sent me home had affected me. Now, I had it again. I could make that ball work wonders. It swooped and spiraled. It would come on straight enough to fool the bats of the other team to strike and then veer off. 

 

Those other guys drove a hundred miles to play. It was like that in the minor leagues where there was a thin line between the amateurs and the pros. I had played for a real team, a well-known jumping point to the major leagues; I had even been scouted before the war, but my number had come up, and Uncle Sam had gotten me instead. 

 

 

A few weeks after I met Robin, we were out practicing. The night before, I'd heard him arguing with George. Something about money missing. It worried me and I decided to tell him the truth about where I had been. I didn't want money to be gone and have it blamed on me because I did time. I reached out to touch his arm, and he turned around, smiling at me in a way that warmed me clear through. 

 

"You look like you have something more on your mind than your curve ball," Robin said. 

 

"Yeah," I said, "You know you never asked me where I was between that last game and now." 

 

"I didn't think it was my business," Robin replied. 

 

"Yeah, well, I was in prison. After I lost my pitching arm, nothing went right. I was drinking and fighting. One night, the other guy, well, he almost died. The jury said it was aggravated assault. I guess it was although I didn't mean to hurt him. I would have done anything to take it back, but you can't. So I did time. Did a year of my sentence before I had to get out. It wasn't that I wasn't willing to take my punishment like a man. I would have done my time without squawking, only there was this guy and..." 

 

The words just seemed to come out of my mouth. I hadn't even told Jake about what happened to me. I hadn't told anyone. I reached my hand up, and there were hot tears spilling down my face. I was ashamed, and yet it felt good to tell someone who wouldn't think less of me because of it. 

 

"The bastard...there's nothing so low as someone who would do that to another person. Tony, you know I'd never do anything like that? I mean, chances are that man didn't even consider what he did was ...being like I am," Robin said. 

 

So it was out there between us. I looked at him and said, "Yeah, I know. I know that the man who hurt me isn't anything like you. I was a little nervous at first when I met you, but now it seems like we always knew each other. I just wanted to tell you that if you hear I was in prison it wasn't for stealing. All my trouble came from drinking and feeling sorry for myself. I've done a lot of growing up since. I won't cause any trouble for you." 

 

Out of the blue, Robin said, "I'm going to ask George to leave. I imagine you heard us yelling at each other last night. I don't know what I ever saw in him. I fell for his act and I feel like a fool." 

 

We were both sitting on the pitcher's mound that he had built in the field behind the house. I reached out and touched him, kind of a pat on the back, but a little longer. He looked across at me, and I saw what was in his eyes. It didn't scare me, but I felt bad about it. He was falling in love with me. There was a time when I might have returned the feeling, but now I couldn't imagine letting a guy touch me. Hell, I hadn't even tried it with a woman since I'd been out, for all the talk that guys will talk in prison. 

 

"I want to stay friends, Robin," I told him. 

 

"I know," he said, sounding bereft. He picked up a rock and threw it into the grass and said, "But I'm going to ask George to leave. He's not the kind of man that I wanted. I just tried to make him into someone he was not." 

 

At dinner that night, Alexandra didn't show and George was missing too. I heard a cry when Victoria went up to see what was keeping her daughter. Robin and I both ran up the stairs, me with some crazy thought that someone had broken into the house and had hurt the girl. 

 

Victoria was sitting on the bed with a piece of paper crumpled in her hand. Robin reached for it, having to unfold her fingers from around the note. He said, "Damn, mom, I'll find them." 

 

"She and George ran off," Robin said. He shook his head and said, "The little bastard!" 

 

"He can't have got far!" I said. 

 

 

Famous last words! The car was missing along with the money that Robin kept in the safe. It wasn't the payroll, thank God, just the grocery money and a few odd dollars for household emergencies. 

 

There was no way I'd let Robin take off without me in that old truck. The pickup was a prima donna. It needed to be tuned like a Stradivarius. It had been on my project list to take the engine apart and see if I could find what made it vapor lock and stall. Shows you why you should never put anything off... 

 

The eloping couple had not passed through town. I figured that George would be looking to sell the car. It would give them enough money to live on for a few months if they were frugal. I doubted they would be. Alexandra was a spoiled brat and George was worse. 

 

The truck made it to the next town before breaking down. Well, not quite into the next town, but close enough to walk to a motel in the middle of a rainstorm. It struck both of us as funny at the same time. We had been cursing steadily as we took off our soggy clothing, trying to top each other in describing the perfidious nature of both the truck and of George who'd made us go out after him with that erratic bitch of a motor vehicle. 

 

Suddenly, Robin broke up. My eyes widened at the sight of my formerly worried employer doubling over in fit after fit of laughter. "They deserve each other," Robin said. "If it wasn't for mother, I'd just say bad riddance." 

 

It was imagining George trying to sell his splotches to make a living that made me laugh. They were the most butt-ugly things I had ever seen in my life. I shook my head and said, "You know, this is stupid anyway. I think you should hire a private detective to track them down." 

 

"Yeah, you're right," Robin admitted. "She's old enough to get married, you know and stupid enough to fall for George's shit. I can just hear him, telling her that she's the woman who can make it work for him, make him forget about men. It's the same line of crap he handed me. He had me believing that I was his first until I ran into one of his other lovers. Turned out that he's just a gigolo who doesn't care if his mark is male or female just as long as they're rich. What you must think of me, Tony, falling for someone like that." 

 

"I can understand being lonely," I said. My eyes suddenly wanted to be anywhere but where they had been. In the back of my mind, I had been enjoying the way Robin looked, his smooth body, firmly muscled. His flat stomach and the bands of muscles that I hadn't known were there beneath his suits. His warm, brown eyes, his pink, full lips, and his sharp features struck me as being movie star handsome. I didn't want to be attracted to him. I just didn't think I could let a guy touch me now without thinking about Big Mike. 

 

"Look, there's no reason to be afraid of me," Robin said, "What I would want from you is something that no one can take from you. It has to be given." 

 

"I know that," I replied. "I'm not scared of you. I like you a lot, Robin." 

 

Robin sucked in his lip. His eyelashes fluttered. I was already used to that expression on him. It made him look like a disappointed little boy. It was a damn wonder he wasn't a spoiled brat like his sister when he could look like that. Shit, I didn't know how I really felt, or what I really wanted. 

 

Neither of us had brought anything to wear, and even our underwear was soaked. We got into the bed and shivered until our body heat warmed it up. I lay there staring up at the ceiling with my hands folded over my stomach. I was afraid to move or even to look at Robin. It was funny. I was put to mind of watching the sky with Jake, listening to him tell me what kind of hawk was what. 

 

All of a sudden, I started to tell Robin about Jake, and my time up in Canada. He was a good listener, and I relaxed. Seems like it ought to have been a year of my life not just the couple of weeks that it really was. It had kept me from going nuts for the year I had to do after I escaped. 

 

"This Jake sounds like he was a good guy," Robin said. 

 

"Yeah," I said, "Ben's lucky to have him. He's like a dad to him." 

 

Sleepy now, I forgot to be afraid of Robin, and I sprawled out under the blankets. I woke up screaming as usual. He fell out of the bed with a thump as I flailed my arms and connected solidly with his nose. He got right up though and asked me if I was all right. 

 

It always made me ashamed to be caught like this. A grown man reduced to screaming and tears. Rubbing his sore ass, Robin got up and put the pillows back on the bed. The blankets were tangled around my legs, and he started to put them to rights. I was still shaking by the time he got back into bed. Then he put his arms around me. I should have freaked but instead I relaxed. I waited for him to make some kind of move, but he just rubbed my back for a while. I couldn't move away. I felt a knot untangle in my stomach, and a warm feeling glow through me. I moved closer, my naked ass against him. He was hard, but he moved away as if he didn't want me to know. I just lay there, my arms and legs feeling limp and heavy, my breaths low and centered. If he wanted, he could have had me, but he just said, "Let me take care of you," and I fell asleep in his arms. 

 

Waking up, I was aware first of the erection begging for attention between my legs. I reached down and put my hand on it in wonder. First time that had happened since Big Mike. I turned around to face Robin and saw the look on his face. I wasn't even thinking. I just moved closer and offered my lips for a kiss. He put his hands on both sides of my face, and his mouth was hard upon mine. I opened my mouth and felt his tongue slide between my lips. At least that hadn't been ruined for me. He moaned helplessly, a long ecstatic sound that thrilled against my lips. I found his hand and guided it to my hard on. My hand surrounded his. This was nothing like what had been done to me, I realized. My free hand cupped the back of his head, and this time I was the aggressor in the kiss. His mouth tasted like peppermint. His mustache tickled my face. I thought, if I'm going to let him kiss me again, that has to go. 

 

Our sweat was enough to lubricate the movements of our hands. He felt big to me. I hadn't really looked when we were naked yesterday. Jim hadn't been cut, but Robin was. He felt different in my hand, so hot that he almost burned in my grip. His hips were moving, thrusting eagerly forward at my touch. I felt almost proud at how much I turned him on. He wasn't going to last much longer and I hurried him the rest of the way. He made a deep noise, a sort of muted roar as he came. His head was back as if he was running for home base, and his face shone with sweat and with pleasure. 

 

As soon as he had caught his breath, he leaned on one elbow and said, "I want to go down on you. May I?" 

 

Mike hadn't ever done that. He never even trusted my teeth near his cock. It had all been rutting on me, treating me like I was his fucking woman. I didn't want to think about that. I just lay back and offered my sprawled legs. Propped on the pillows, I could watch Robin. His face was tender, and he was so turned on that I could tell he was getting hard again just from the thought of taking me in his mouth. Oh God, he was so good, even better than Jim. It was if he knew where every nerve was and could read my thoughts, know when to linger and then when to move faster and faster. I knew I was supposed to let him do it, but it had been so long that my hips jerked in rhythm to the pulse of my blood. Squeaky, breathy sounds came out of my mouth. I was shameless and reached out, gripping his hair, trying not to pull, but clinging to the pleasure, not wanting anything to get in the way of coming. 

 

As I felt the come surging up, I went wild, my body arching into his mouth. I was sure he was going to have bruises, and I was ashamed at not being in control. He went all the way with me, no pulling away. He took me all in and consumed me. A few swipes of his tongue afterwards, not long enough to be painful, just a slow ebbing of sensation. I covered my face with my arm and lay there, one leg still up and sprawled obscenely wide. The other lay flat and trembling with released tension. 

 

His voice was an annoyance when it came a few moments after my orgasm. I didn't want to do anything but bask in the aftershocks of pleasure, wonder how I could have gone without that for so long. "You okay? No regrets?" 

 

I took my arm down and looked at him. There was still some of my come shining on his face, and his lips were beet-red from sucking. It was the sexiest thing I ever saw in my life. "No, it was fine," I said. "Guess we both needed that." 

 

Getting up right after that wasn't the classiest thing I had ever done. I went and washed thoroughly in the bathroom. My cock was still sensitive and I handled it with a sort of delicate wonder. In my head, I made comparisons and laughed at myself as I figured out that getting head was fully as good in its way as being laid the old fashioned way. I knew some women would do that. The hooker I went with had sucked me first. She hadn't been half as good though. Robin was really the best I ever had. 

 

I hid in the bathroom a while, a little embarrassed by it all. Then I decided that I liked Robin too much to treat him like this. It wasn't going to hurt me to let him give me this pleasure. I just had to tell him that I couldn't ever love another man. Someday there would be another Nancy and I would have that little house with a kid like Ben and maybe a dog. That was the way it was supposed to be. 

 

"Are you okay?" Robin asked me again, his big brown eyes looking at me like a puppy-dog's. 

 

"Yeah, great," I said, "It's been a while, and I was just a little surprised that I liked it as much as I did." 

 

The big smile that rewarded me made me glad that I had got my mixed up feelings under control. He went in to use the bathroom next, and when he was done, we seemed to be under an unspoken agreement to leave what happened in that room. 

 

I spent the next day lying in the still soggy grass, fiddling with the damn truck until I found the vacuum leak that was causing the problem. The part was cheap enough, but the cherry picker I had to rent to get to it wasn't. Meanwhile, Robin had made some calls. He decided to call the car stolen and also put a private detective on the case. We called it a day and turned around for home as soon as I got the truck to fire up. 

 

 

After George and Alexandra took off, we had some pretty good days. Victoria settled down and decided that her daughter was going to have to do some growing up on her own. They kept the private detective on the case. Eventually, the man tracked down the car. Robin had a new one by then and left the police to figure out what to do. 

 

The team stopped having to work at anything more than playing ball. Somehow though, I never found my own place even when the paychecks were bigger than I had ever made. My pitching was sweet again. I walked out onto the fields to cheers, and I saw a few major-league scouts taking note. The post war slump seemed to be a thing of the past as Robin said it would be. 

 

There was no new Nancy yet. I guess I wasn't really looking. Between playing and just living, life kept me busy. Robin and I, well, things kept happening. He was a lot more discreet than he had been with George. As far as I knew there wasn't any talk. 

 

A couple nights a week, Robin would show up after everyone went to bed. I knew what he was there for and so did he. He was good to me, careful and gentle, helping get over the leftover fears that I had. He knew how to make it feel good enough so that when he'd knock on my door, I'd be hard before I even opened it. I liked to let him undress me, his eyes just devouring me as he took off each piece of clothing. He never pushed me for more, although I finally got to the point when I wanted to try to blow him. 

 

The first time, I don't see how he even got anything out of it. I was worried about how it would taste and had snuck and used a bunch of peppermint mouthwash. I'm surprised he didn't yell that my mouth stung. I'd been worried that it would make me sick, but he was clean and salty; he smelled like himself. I don't know how to say it any other way. Robin meant being safe to me, and I knew that he'd never hurt me. Anyway, I took him in my mouth, too far of course, and I choked. He didn't laugh just put his hand on his cock to steady it and to show me how far I should try to take him. 

 

Clumsy, embarrassed and awkward, my head bobbed up and down. My hands gripping his hips, feeling his smooth warm flesh, his muscles rippling as I made my awkward love to him. I looked up at him and suddenly it seemed so right to be doing this. I think I was as hard as he was. 

 

Afterwards, we tickled and wrestled and then he did me. That was one of the nights he slept in my bed. I knew a lot of times he wanted to stay, but I didn't want anyone to know about us. Usually, we just did it, and then he'd go back to sleep at the main house. I didn't make him that time. We lay together with my head on his chest. His hand stroked me slowly, over and over, and I was happy. 

 

I'd written one letter to Jake and to Ben when I'd been on the road. I kept thinking that I should write another, but something stopped me. I was falling in love with Robin, ashamed of it, and ashamed that I betrayed him by being embarrassed. I guess I was afraid I couldn't write about Robin without sounding like the lovesick fool that I felt. 

 

 

It was a month or so later, getting towards the end of baseball season. Robin had been pretty busy that week. Business was good. He'd bought a couple more food processing plants and a grocery story. He said he was diversifying, which I figured was smart. A guy couldn't help picking up some business knowledge. Robin was a talker. It was really his biggest fault. Only time he shut up was when his mouth was full...not such a bad deal for me either. I listened to him though. A guy should be open to learning new things. 

 

Anyway, I was winding up a practice session, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in my pitching arm. Turns out that my arm giving out had not all been in my head. Robin came running to the field and yelled, "Hey, want to go to St. Louis?" 

 

Did I want to go to St. Louis? I frowned, feeling that funny crease form above my nose? Were the Cardinals playing at home or visiting? I had memorized the schedule...They were home team. I grinned and said, "Hell, yes! If that comes with a ticket to see the Cardinals?" 

 

Robin waved two tickets in my face and said, "I'm buying a jukebox factory -- or at least I'm thinking about it, but that's just a few meetings. We have plenty of time to catch a game and see the sights." 

 

The relief pitcher was glad to get a chance to get out and play. The coach wasn't going to object, not with the boss standing there, waiting to hear the answer. It wasn't like I ever blew a game before. Just seeing the Cardinals was like a dream to me...the best team in the world that year, maybe best ever. 

 

The jukebox factory was a great place too. We got to see everything from the place where they made the cases to the assembly line for the electronics. We even got to play one of the finished ones for free. I hadn't heard a lot of the songs, but the current owner said they were right at the top of Billboard, which I guess was a good thing. 

 

There was 'Jezebel' by Frankie Laine and 'My Truly, Truly Fair' by Guy Mitchell. I also liked 'Cold, Cold Heart' and 'Because of You' because Tony Bennett just crooned them out in a way I would have loved to sing. 

 

Afterwards we went out to lunch at a nice place and then headed for the stadium. I even got recognized when I walked into the stadium. Some kid about Ben's age asked me for my autograph. I felt prouder of that than I had when they pinned a medal on my chest. Robin and I were invited to sit in one of the boxes with the owner of another team. He was kind of a nut by the name of Powel Crosley, the guy who made those ugly little cars that people used to buy in the hardware store. I mean, imagine that! You go in, and you could buy a Crosley radio, or one of his Icey Ball refrigerators and bring the radio home in a car you bought in the same place. He owned the Cincinnati Reds, and damned if he hadn't heard about me from one of his scouts. 

 

Next thing I knew he was asking me to try out. I looked at Robin and the eager words stuck in my throat. It should have been so easy, but when I looked at him all I could think about was him holding me, me holding him. I realized that I was wrong. It wasn't just getting laid any more. I really cared about Robin. Hell, maybe I even loved him. 

 

His nod and the small smile freed me. I stammered out that I was ready any time. We made an appointment for next month. I was walking on air; the only thing holding me down was realizing that it meant leaving Robin for most of the year. It was still summer though, and I wouldn't start until next spring if they offered me a contract. 

 

When we got back to our hotel room, I grabbed Robin and kissed him. "Because of you!" I said. "I got a chance at my dream because you took a chance on an ex-con." 

 

Smiling at me, Robin pulled me down on the bed and rolled over on me. That used to bother me, but it didn't now. It wasn't like Mike, not even with my eyes closed. I knew Robin's smell. I knew his touch. When we lay together, I knew I was safe, and that I was loved. 

 

Right then, I wasn't looking for safe. I usually let Robin show me what he wanted, but this time, I couldn't wait. I was impatient, pulling his clothes off and mine, kissing him and stopping to grind against him. I wanted his mouth on me and as I sprawled out wide open, begging him to take me in his mouth, he seemed to want the same. In a few moments, I was harder, needy. When he pulled his mouth away, I tried to grab him and bring it back. He said, "Tony, give this to me. I want you inside me at least once before you go away." 

 

"I can't," I said, curling up, my erection wilting. "I don't want to hurt you. It's fine the way we've been doing it." 

 

"I'd never ask you to let me inside you," Robin said, his hand moving over me, petting and patting, calming me. "I'm just asking you to do this once for me. If you don't like it, I'll never ask again." 

 

"It hurts," was all I could say, my breaths came quicker as I remembered how it felt to have Mike on top of me, pushing into me, calling me names as he used me. He made me feel like a thing, a hole for him to use. Afterwards, I'd lie there until I could get up and pull my clothes back on without crying. I remembered the blood in my shorts, and that it hurt to walk afterwards. How could anyone want that? 

 

Robin lay down with me and pulled me close. I let him hold me, shivering as I remembered all over again what had happened to me. He said, "Tony, what happened to you has got nothing to do with what I want. When two guys care about each other and they do this, it feels like nothing else. You're filled up with him. His cock is inside of you, moving inside you, moving against this sweet little nub that feels incredible. It's so hot and beautiful. I never let George do that with me. I guess I knew I didn't love him, but I just want it so bad from you. I'm sorry it scared you." 

 

"Okay," I said, "I'll try, but if I don't like it, you won't ask me again?" 

 

"Lover, you don't have to even try if you don't want to. I was just being greedy. I had no right," Robin said. 

 

"Hey, it's okay, I want to give you something," I said. 

 

We took it slow after that, just kissing. We fit together perfectly. He was the same height as me and was only a few pounds heavier. He was built a little differently, longer in the torso, making up for his sturdy legs. He had more hair than I did, not too much, but enough to tickle. Funny how much I liked to touch him, simply being there with him, my eyes closed as I memorized every part of him, knowing the texture of his skin from the rough of his elbows to the smooth feeling of his ass. 

 

When he went down on me again, I tried to think about that, about how much it turned me on from the first time, on how much I knew he cared about me. I watched him as he opened himself. Mike more or less did that to me, complaining about me hurting him because I was too tight. Me hurting him! The bastard! 

 

Robin made it look like it felt good. His fingers slid in and out of himself. He said, "Better if you did this, but as long as I can look at you..." 

 

It was like a challenge. I reached over and slicked my fingers with KY jelly and let him guide me in. I'd let Jim do that once, put a finger inside me, but I had been too embarrassed to relax so it didn't have the effect that he wanted. Robin went wild, riding on me, pushing hard against me. 

 

A moment later, I let him guide my cock inside him. I didn't know what to expect...it was not like a woman. It was different, tighter, the muscles somehow both resisting and accepting my cock as I moved. His legs gripped me, his ass riding up to meet my thrusts. I was gasping, sweat dripping off my face, my body was telling me how good this was, and my heart ached with love for him. Robin, my Robin, architect of doom for my hopes of an ordinary life... 

 

A groan ripped out of me as I came. He had shuddered and released a moment before. We collapsed on the bed and clung to each other. "I didn't hurt you?" I had to ask. 

 

"Of course not," he said, "that's going to be something I remember for the rest of my life." 

 

The words left my mouth thoughtlessly, but I meant them. "Robin, if I get on the team, make the majors, when I've had a taste of my dream, can I come back to you? Will you wait?" 

 

God, I was so selfish and greedy, wanting it all, wanting my childhood dream and wanting him, my lover, my seducer. 

 

Robin kissed me hard on the mouth and said, "I'll wait forever if I have too. You're my dream...and I can't believe that you're real." 

 

A moment later, we had to get up as the reality of come drying on our bodies made its itchy presence known. We got in the shower exploring each other all over again. This was something I had never had with a woman. Maybe it would have been different if I had. Now, when my body yearned for completion, and my soul hungered for the connection of touch, it was Robin that I imagined, not Nancy. 

 

We stayed in St. Louis for two more days, loving each other, living in the sweet illusion that our love was no less precious, no less perfect than any other pair of lovers. 

 

 

The first thing I saw when I walked in the house with Robin was Alexandra. She was huddled on the couch, and she was huge. Her face was thin and pale with big dark circles. Her wrists were swollen and so were her ankles. She looked at Robin and said bitterly, "Why don't you laugh at me?" 

 

"Honey, I'm sorry. What happened?" Robin said. 

 

"He kept saying we would get married as soon as I got some more money from you or Mom," Alexandra said. 

 

I saw Robin shoot a disgusted look at his mother. She looked away and shrugged. He'd told her not to send them any money if Alexandra asked, just to tell her to come home. I know he hated himself for bringing George anywhere near his sister. 

 

There was something that Robin wasn't even thinking about yet. Alexandra had a kid coming, a kid that was going to grow up with people calling him or her a bastard. Well, not if I could help it! I said, "Alexandra, do you still want to marry George?" 

 

"I have to marry someone," she replied. 

 

"Marry me," I said, "I'm making a good living now. I can take care of you and the baby. I might even get into the major leagues this time." 

 

Robin was shaking his head at me, but I set my jaw. Maybe there wasn't going to be a Nancy, but I could still be a dad. I meant to stand by Alexandra too, even if it meant I couldn't be with the one I had just found out that I loved. In fact, I knew I had to give Robin up. Marriage was supposed to be sacred. I knew that. 

 

It didn't take her more than two minutes to think about it. She said, "Yes, you won't regret it, Tony. I'll be the best wife in the world." 

 

It was almost worth it just to see the relief on Victoria's face. She went right to work, not planning a big wedding, just looking for a justice of the peace who wouldn't ask questions. I walked outside to clear my head and Robin followed. He had that expression on his face. 

 

"Why?" he asked, "Is this just a way of running away from me? You don't have to ruin your life to do that. And if this is some misguided gallantry, I can take care of my sister and her baby." 

 

"Can't marry her though. I can give the kid a name, Robin. Maybe that's what led me here -- to take care of that baby," I said. 

 

The justice of the peace that married us called me in for a lecture first. His bushy brows knit together as his New Englander voice lectured me on the folly of not waiting. The female was frail, he said, easily mislead. It was the male job to keep these fragile flowers safe. I listened and nodded, although it didn't make a lot of sense to me. Nancy, my former fiancee was a lot tougher and more practical than I was. She had no trouble sending me packing. No trouble finding a better prospect soon after from what I heard. Not that I blame her. I knew I was not that good a catch even before the war ruined me. Afterwards, I was no good even to myself. 

 

After the wedding, we had a little dinner, just the family, of which I was now a member, I guess. The table was set with the best china, there were roses everywhere, and we had a cake with little pink cupids sprigged on the white frosting. Victoria was making the best of things. 

 

I haven't said too much about Victoria, but she was a good woman, kind. I could see both of her children in her. Robin because she was good hearted, intelligent, and strong; Alexandra because Victoria was pretty good at self-delusion and she liked her parties and appearances. That's what I was -- an appearance, but I thought I would be a good father. I'd been good with Ben, both Jake and Julia said so. My dad and I had never been close, and my Mom had to work too hard to fuss over me, but my kid -- boy or girl -- was going to know all about being loved. 

 

Anyway, Alexandra perked up after we were married. Victoria bought her some fashionable maternity dresses, and her friends threw her a baby shower, forgiving the question of late marriage, early baby. Besides, there was more than one child born during the war, and after, that it didn't pay to count the months between marriage and pregnancy. 

 

My tryout was two months after the wedding, a good month before the baby was due. I could go without much worry. Robin invited himself along although I wasn't going to do nothing with him. Marriage was sacred, my mother used to say when my father came home mean and drunk to piss on the floor. Nobody in our family ever got divorced. I figured that to mean that I had no right to make love with Robin when I was married to his sister. There's a right way and a wrong way, Tony, Mom always said. Make me proud. Well, I was glad for the first time that she had died when I was young the day the judge sent me to prison. My dad didn't even bother to come to court. Now, I wished she was alive so she could see me make those baseballs fly. 

 

Robin was there though, I'd be proud to have him see me pitch. I stepped out into the field in my Maryland Tigers uniform and threw a couple practice balls. Mr. Crosley was there with his kid, a happy boy about Ben's age. I lobbed a couple practice balls and felt the magic rise in me. Nothing could go wrong. 

 

Nothing did. I showed them I could deliver that ball anywhere I wanted it to go. My fast ball cut the air with a whistle. My curve ball hovered and seemed to change direction in mid air. I didn't need to hear the verdict. I could see it sparkling in the coach's eyes. I'd already told them about doing time. It didn't please them, but they figured it balanced with my war record, which was good. Anyway, it wasn't going to get in the way of offering me a contract as long as I was good enough. That I was -- red hot and looking like I could be a star; as long as that lasted I didn't have to worry about my past. 

 

They had set up a practice game so I had a chance to prove that I could hit a ball and run too. I had never played better than I did that day. Robin ran down to the field and hugged me hard, patting my back, but no one took that amiss. Even Mr. Crosley did the same. He then invited us both out for a celebration as if it was that obvious that the contract was going to be signed. 

 

The dinner wasn't as bad as I worried it would be. Mr. Crosley also wanted his son along so he chose a place that wasn't too formal. There was still more silverware than a man needed, but I just watched what the others did. I didn't say much except when asked a question. I ate my steak, which was all wrapped up in a piece of bacon and tasted pretty fine. It was the first time I ate asparagus. I liked it even if it did just look like an overgrown piece of grass. 

 

After dinner, Robin took me to see Humphrey Bogart in 'The African Queen'. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't a good choice. The explosions had my body tightly wound. In the dark, Robin rubbed my hand and whispered, "We can leave." 

 

"I'll tough it out," I said. You know, I was happy I did because I like the way it finished. Robin and I though; I didn't think we were having any last minute happy ending... 

 

Finally, it was time to go back to the hotel. We had the same room, but separate beds. I couldn't sleep, listening to every move he made, the sound of him breathing made my own breaths quicken. I kept thinking that one more time wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like I had a real marriage, but I'd ruined my life once lying to myself. I wouldn't do it again. 

 

Robin said in a low voice, "We could at least sleep together. We wouldn't have to do anything..." 

 

"No, Robin, I'm not that strong even if you are," I said. 

 

His laugh was warm, strong, full of his loving kindness. "I'm not either, but it was worth trying." 

 

Finally exhausted after playing my best, having a big meal and being up later than I had a habit, I fell asleep. With Robin in the room, I didn't even have a nightmare. 

 

The next day I signed the contract after Robin had read through it for me. I'd report for spring training in March and I would be a major leaguer. I was going to have a double handful of my dream. 

 

 

The next month was a blur. I finished up my last season with the Tigers, having pictures snapped and reporters asking me how it felt to know I was going to be playing for the Cincinnati Reds. "Grand," I would say, and half the time I would be blushing from embarrassment. Kids, and sometimes even grown men, had me signing baseballs, hoping that I'd be famous enough one day to make that the prize of some collection. I was riding high, but missing making love with Robin soured my dream for me. I saw him every day, and it was wonderful, but not enough. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't find myself jacking off to my memories of loving him. 

 

With the season over, Robin set me up with some promotional openings. I'd show up at each new store that Robin opened in the chain of supermarkets he'd bought, throw a few fancy pitches and sign autographs. I'd usually be home by supper. If Alexandra were there, I'd spend time with her, trying to court her more or less. 

 

Funny with Robin, I never thought about the differences. His education, his wealth, and his status were not the sum of him by any means. He was well liked even by the men who worked for him. He was warm, funny, good hearted, and down to earth. With Alexandra, I was aware all the time that I was talking to rich, spoiled nineteen-year old. I think she liked me and liked the idea of being married to a baseball star, but she just didn't know what to say to me. I found out that she wasn't interested in baseball or how to tell hawks apart pretty quickly. I tried to tell her about Julia, Ben, and Jake, all the good memories of my short time with them. She said, "I hated being poor. How awful for Julia to be a poor widow! Shouldn't you ask Robin to send them some money?" 

 

I could just imagine Jake and Julia's reaction to that! Both of them were proud people and they didn't think of themselves as poor. They weren't in fact. Alexandra just had never lived an ordinary life. I'm not saying she didn't experience a few hard knocks when she ran off with George, but she'd only missed a meal or two before coming home. I wouldn't have counted that as hungry when I was a kid. 

 

So I went to openings and tried to learn about running a business from Robin. It was hard to think sometimes though, when all I could think about was how close he was, and all I had to do to be happy was reach out... 

 

My strength came from my weakness. Indulging in self pity had led me to drink, to losing Nancy, to nearly taking another life, one that the government didn't tell me was right to take, and then to prison. I wasn't going to be weak again. I was going to do the right thing, like I had when Jake let me make that first choice about turning myself in or fleeing. That had been the right step, and I just had to go on making the hard choices. 

 

As the delivery date grew nearer, Alexandra was so scared. She wanted her mama and me near all the time. How she hated her bulky midsection, her swollen ankles and her aching back! My lemonades and back rubs helped sometimes, but at times she just needed to yell at someone. I was good for that too. 

 

The week before the doctor said she was due, we woke up in a wet bed. Her waters had broken. It was hard to say which of us was more scared. I ran out of the room in my damp pajamas and yelled for help. Robin went to get the car as his mom ran in to get Alexandra ready. I grabbed the little bag we had packed and went to help them to the car. It was not until Robin suggested I might want to wear clothes that I realized I was still in damp pajamas. 

 

"I don't want to do this!" Alexandra kept screaming. I didn't blame her. I'd as well get shot again as go through that. The contractions were coming fast and hard. She was white faced, dripping with sweat. She was horribly embarrassed as gas left her body with her contractions. 

 

Robin was as calm as if this was an every day occurrence. It was not until we got to the hospital that I looked down and saw his bare feet! 

 

The nurses took Alexandra away with Victoria in tow. She was cursing like a dockworker by this time. Interesting friends she must have made when she was with George! 

 

The waiting room was filled up with husbands and other family members. Some of them looked bored, and some of them -- like myself -- looked terrified. I paced back and forth like I would do sometimes in my cell. When I did sit down, the plastic couches squeaked with every move. They were a color of green I had never seen before, sort of a cross between moss green and olive. The walls were a pastel green so I felt a little seasick when I paced. The coffee that Robin brought me tasted worse than the army coffee or even the prison brew that was strong enough to take the paint off the walls. 

 

Seems to me it should have been quicker. I had never seen anything born. The short time I was on the farm about the closest thing there was to it was chickens. Course I wasn't seeing anything now either, just pacing and excited, scared for Alexandra and wondering what it felt like to be a dad. 

 

Finally, Victoria came out. She said, "He's beautiful, Tony. Eight pound and two ounces." 

 

Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "Alexandra said you should name him. She won't even look at him. She took one glance and said it was George's baby and she couldn't forgive him." 

 

Leaving Robin to comfort his mother, I followed the nurse. She put a hospital gown, gloves, a paper cap over my head and a mask over my face. Poor babies probably thought they were going to grow up to be some mighty strange looking creatures. My hands were shaking a little when they held him out to me. Me who was near as good a catcher as I was a pitcher was afraid that I would drop him. 

 

The baby was red as a lobster that Robin had teased me into eating. His tiny fists were flecked with white specks. They shook like my hands as if he was scared and mad. His face was twisted up in a cry like he already knew that life was hard. 

 

I held him close and that seemed to calm him. He opened his eyes and they were the prettiest hazel, a combination of Alexandra's light brown eyes and George's blue. His fist uncurled and grabbed one of my fingers, holding on tight. I felt something shake loose inside of me. It was like the moment when I realized I loved Robin, only different - more. This was the least complicated feeling I'd ever had for anyone. I said, "Your name is Jacob James Edwards and I'm your daddy...and you don't ever have to worry, son, because I'm always going to be here for you." 

 

Tears trembled on my eyes and then spilled. The nurse was smiling at me. She was little, dark eyed, and pretty. She said, "Don't you worry, sir, about your wife. It's not unusual for women to feel that way the first time, especially if they have a hard time like your wife did." 

 

Nodding, I asked, "Is he hungry or something?" 

 

Jake was sucking on his knuckles fiercely and I was afraid he would take the skin right off. The nurse said, "Maybe. Just a few minutes while we do a couple of things." 

 

It was hard to let go of him, and I went right to the room when I heard him scream. I already knew his voice! 

 

Apparently, Jake didn't take to having medicine put in his eyes. He blinked and wailed, but finally settled when they let me feed him. I sat rocking him, fascinated by his tiny life. I'd never held a baby before. He felt surprisingly warm to me. He didn't weigh all that much, but the weight of him felt different. He wrapped around me when I held him close. He seemed to like my heartbeat and calmed when he heard it. 

 

Alexandra didn't change her mind. She wouldn't nurse him even though they told her that it would help them both. She wouldn't change him or give him more than a cursory look. The nurses shrugged and showed Robin and I how to take care of him. Robin was as bad as I. That baby spent more time in Alexandra's room than in the nursery. He had a yell that penetrated the nursery and disturbed the other babies. Pretty soon, the nurses would bring him back and I'd grin, as he would stop crying the moment his cloudy eyes picked out my face. 

 

Jake liked Robin fine and Victoria -- nana she pronounced herself, like her Italian grandmother, almost as well. When he really was upset though, I was the one he wanted. Alexandra was moody after the pregnancy. Postnatal depression, the doctor said. They brought a special doctor to talk to her and finally suggested that Victoria take her away to visit her favorite aunt in New York. 

 

Grandma didn't want to leave us men in charge of Jake, but Alexandra was getting wan and thin, so she more or less had no choice. She drilled us and drilled us, watching like a hawk as we changed diapers, gave baths, and fed him. Finally, we were pronounced likely not to kill my son in the few weeks she would be gone. 

 

I was fine with it. Jake and I were two peas in pod. He wasn't happy without me and I wasn't happy without him. I wasn't lonely anymore. It was funny because he was just a baby, couldn't talk, couldn't walk, but he was one hell of a good listener. I told my son things that I hadn't even told Jake or Robin, about how it felt the first time I knew my gun had killed someone, the first time I looked at a buddy and saw him falter, throw his arms out, and fall dead. I talked to God and my son about the first time I saw a family burned in their house, the time I saw a girl being raped, and the shot I fired to kill the German soldier who was doing it. He just listened, his hand suckling in his mouth, and his funny colored eyes focused on me. 

 

Like magic, the rest of the hurt left me. Soon I was telling him instead about making clouds disappear by wishing them; about the feel of Jake slapping my shoulder as we toted those hay bales; about the sky and the hawks that dazzled my eyes. I told him how it felt to throw a perfect pitch, to hear the crowd roar, to feel the solid crack of a good hit, the joy of running to home, beating the other team and the flight of the ball. 

 

Finally, after all this time, I was free, free and clean. The dirt and the pain that Mike left on my soul couldn't hurt me any more. The war was just bad memories. I was just about as newborn as Jake. 

 

Oh, that kid grew. Of course, all he did at first was eat, burp, pee, poop, and sleep. I figured he slept so much because he was tired out from all that growing. Every day, he was bigger. 

 

Victoria came home, but I wouldn't let her take Jake to sleep in her room. Every night, I'd sing him to sleep. Sure it was miserable at times, babies have no mind to sleep the way people ought. No, they liked to drop off during the day so they could wail like banshees a couple times a night. He was my son, though, and I wanted him to know that there was someone who loved him, even if it looked as if he wasn't going to have a mother. 

 

The good thing about being so tired was that when I was alone with Robin; I didn't have the appetites I used to have. More than once, I'd be talking to him and I'd wake up with him stroking through my hair with my head on his lap. 

 

The first time Jake smiled, if I thought I loved him before, I was twice as bad then. It was a real smile when he was two or three months old. I went to get him from his crib, and he looked up at me. His toothless little mouth split wide in a grin, and he reached up for me. I had to call everyone to tell them, but it was a whole week before he smiled at anyone else. 

 

My son was four months old before his mother came home. She still wasn't interested in being a real mom, but she would spend a little time with him when her friends were around. We played a real family for the town. I wasn't adverse. I kept hoping if we acted like a family, we would become one. I tried to learn to be more like Robin. Not be so tongue-tied and shy sometimes. I went to more movies and even learned to dance...Robin taught me, dancing in his office to the music of one of the jukeboxes from his factory. If I had been fooling myself, that would have told me the truth. One touch and I was hard. I came just from feeling his hand on my ass, the brush of his body close to mine as he told me that a man had to dance close to do slow dancing right... 

 

Finally one night after Jake was old enough to be in his nursery room, Alexandra reached for me and showed she'd learned a whole lot from George. However, before I was allowed to enter her, she put a rubber on me. She didn't want any more kids, she said. He body was beautiful. I had never seen it before she was pregnant. She played with her breasts, telling me that they were bigger now and did I like them? Naturally, I said I did, and she guided my head to suckle her nipples. My face reddened as I reflected that the last time I had done anything like this, one of Robin's chest hairs got caught in my teeth. We laughed until we shook at that, Robin and I. 

 

It made me uneasy to think that I was sucking her nipples, and little Jake was never given that chance. I shook it off and reached my hand down to tease her. She was wet inside and warm. Marta, my first real girl friend, let me do that before we lost our cherries together. Alexandra like it and her body trembled with pleasure. A moment later, she guided me into her. I was trying to be gentle, but she clawed my back, spurring me on. After so long without sex, I didn't last long, but she seemed satisfied. I thought maybe it was the start of something more like a real marriage for us. I didn't want to compare what we had to making love to Robin, but I couldn't help it. It was good, but not like it was with Robin. 

 

March came too soon and I reported for training. Victoria came along and set up house nearby. Of course, supposedly, it was a place for Alexandra and myself, but my wife seldom stayed there for more than a night or two. She loved New York and was caught up in her social life there, going to exhibits, taking art lessons, and drinking champagne at fancy parties with other people her age. I didn't begrudge it to her. Jake was my little miracle and that was all I needed from her. 

 

Robin came to everyone of my games. I'd look up, and he would be in the bleachers holding my son. He'd bring Jake down to the dug-out where he would chew on the catcher's mitt and flirt his long eyelashes at the other players. He didn't look like George or Alexandra. I swear he looked more like me than his natural parents. Everyone said he was the spitting image of his dad, and I didn't even have a twinge when I agreed with that. He was my son, not George's; even the law said so. I had Robin look into that, and according to Maryland law if my name was on the birth certificate, and I was married to his mother, he was my kid by law, and George could never come back to blackmail me about it. 

 

Playing for the Reds was something else. The first time I put on the uniform for a real game; I was so proud I could hardly speak. Robin had brought Jake to the dressing room, and I saw the way he looked at me. I just smiled at him, and I wished it could be a different world where Robin and I could have been the ones that married. 

 

Nervous at first, my body just took over. My pitches were perfect. If they hadn't had some prime players on their team, I would have had a chance at a no hitter. As it was, three of them connected, but they only got one man home. It was a good game, and the coach said that I was one hell of a rookie. That was high praise for a man who once said Joe DiMaggio was an all right baseball player. 

 

My next game was even better. I pitched my hardest, and only one player hit one of my throws. However after the game, my arm begin to ache. I covered it up, but Robin saw that I was holding my arm oddly. He waited until we were alone in the car and said, "Want to tell me about that arm?" 

 

"I think I might have strained it," I admitted, "but it'll be all right by the time of the next game." 

 

I don't know if I said how stubborn Robin was, but I lost the argument. He had a doctor friend who wouldn't talk to reporters and made me an appointment. He wouldn't let me go alone either. He knew what playing meant to me. The doctor was young and modern. He had a ton of equipment in his clinic, but he wasn't content with that. After he poked and prodded, stretched and generally tormented my arm, he looked at me through his wire rimmed glasses, brushed back his blond hair and said, "I want X rays." 

 

Set to argue, one look at Robin shut me up. I had really thought that my arm had given out because of the nightmares that had kept me awake, and the drinking I had done to try to sleep. The army doctors who'd patched me up said that I'd be fine. Shrapnel had hit me, and I'd counted myself lucky, because my buddies two feet over from me were blown near to bits. 

 

Now, the X Ray machine, a thing that made me nervous with all I had read about Hiroshima, said that there was still a shard deep in my muscles. Dr. Swimmer said that it would need surgery, and that chances were that the muscles would suffer. However, if I didn't have the surgery done, my arm was sure to give me worse trouble in the future. I might even lose the use of it. I didn't want to hear that. I could feel my dream slipping through my hands... 

 

"One season," I said, "That's all I'm asking. It'll be okay for one season." 

 

The doctor shook his head and said, "It may or it may not. You put a lot of stress on that arm. I saw you throw. That power ball is world class, but a human arm is just not set up for that kind of performance on a long term basis." 

 

"I just want one season," I said. It was true. I could dream about more, but this was already more than I could have hoped for two years ago. 

 

The doctor said, "It's your life, Mr. Edwards, and your arm." 

 

You can bet Robin had something to say, but I could be stubborn too. I was going to play it out. I wouldn't speak my hope aloud, but I wanted to pitch one no hitter, just once, to say that I had done it. That would be enough for me. 

 

The season went by in a blur. Sure the Reds were only sixth in the league and weren't going to make the World Series by any means. Bill was a good coach, but he didn't quite have the team he wanted. We were weak on hitting and the pitching talent couldn't hide that fact. However, we won our share of games and at least the owner didn't complain. Mr. Crosely was a genuine fan. He just wanted to have a team and he had the Reds. That was good enough for him. 

 

 

I went home for a week between games, wanting to relax in the big house and not wanting Jake to forget where he really lived. Robin and I spent more time together than Alexandra and I, but she was home for once. 

 

My wife looked happy. I wondered what had happened. She had a glow about her, a rosy look to her cheeks and she was smiling a lot. She even spent some time with Jake, talking to him and trying to teach him to finger paint. He was so little, of course, that he just wanted to eat the paint, but it was better than ignoring him. I figured she would tell me when she was ready. I thought she would tell me that she had a show. She was always painting and even sold a few of her paint blobs. All I could say was that her colors were better than George's were. She could talk on for a day about what they meant, but I just didn't see it. It just looked like streaks of color like on a house painter's tarp. 

 

Just before I had to go back to Ohio, I lay in bed, trying to sleep, thinking about Robin just a bedroom away. Alexandra sat brushing her hair, beautiful, glossy blonde stuff. I was glad that she had grown it back from the pageboy cut she had worn last year. It was already down to her shoulders. Robin's hair grew quickly too. Other than the fact that they were both beautiful, that was about all they had in common. 

 

"You're in love with Robin," Alexandra stated. She didn't question it. She said it as if she was certain. 

 

All I could think about was Jake. If I could have loved my own flesh and blood more than I loved that kid, I didn't even want to think about it. I think I wouldn't have been able to let the poor baby out of my sight. 

 

"This isn't working," Alexandra said. "I want a divorce. Oh, don't look at me that way...you can have custody of the baby. I'm a rotten mother, anyway; at least I'm rotten to Jake. I just see George every time I look at him. A kid should have better than that. You and Robin are raising him anyway, not me. I just can't do this. I want to go to France and study art. That's what I found out from George...that I was a better artist than he was. His friends told me so too. The other thing I found out is that I can't live without money. So we can both be happy...all you have to do is support me." 

 

My head was racing with thoughts. I didn't believe in divorce. My Mom and dad didn't separate even when things weren't happy. I didn't even know anyone who was divorced until I met Robin. "You could just go to Paris," I offered. 

 

"I could," Alexandra said, "But there's somebody else, Tony. He's going to marry me as soon as my divorce is final. He just doesn't have a lot of money. He's a student who's going to art school at the Sorbonne, but he's not like George. I just have to support myself until he graduates. Tony, I don't want a scandal. I don't want to ruin you or Robin, but I want to be happy. This way, I get what I want, and you get what you want. I know that you haven't slept with Robin since we married. I think you are the nicest man I've ever met, and the most decent next to my brother. You two deserve each other. I really mean that." 

 

"Okay," I said, "But wait until the end of the season. I don't want any kind of scandal to ruin what we got going. My arm's starting to go anyway, so I know that it's my last season, my shining season." 

 

"Sure, Tony, I can wait," Alexandra said, with more warmth in her voice than there had been since our marriage. She hugged me and said, "I think my brother is lucky. Sometimes I think I could have loved you, Tony, but you're the kind of man who only loves one person at a time. My brother had your heart before you even knew it." 

 

I told Robin the next day. He had an expression on his face that said he wanted to paddle his little sister. I quickly said, "It's okay, Robin, I want her to be happy." 

 

We looked at each other like both of us weren't quite willing to say what this could mean to us. I said, "But could you have someone check this guy out? One of those private detectives?" 

 

"That's a good idea, Tony," Robin said. 

 

The private detective was a disappointment. I was pretty fond of pulp detectives. I expected the office to be up a flight of creaky stairs, to smell of smoke, and to have the detective offer us whiskey in dirty shot glasses. 

 

Instead, he had an office in ordinary building. He looked like a lawyer or something, and his secretary was a mousy little woman who didn't look like she'd ever painted her nails or chewed a stick of gum. Took all the romance out of it for me. 

 

Robin paid the man in advance, and we told them what we knew, that he was from New York, an art student, and about twenty-four. I knew his name, Eli Parsons, and even where he lived. Alexandra had given me the address in case anything happened to her mother or Jake. 

 

A few weeks later, Mr. Ellison gave us a neat folder. Eli Parsons had no history of confidence games. He was just what he said that he was, a kid from a middle class family on an art scholarship. So Robin and I went to see him. I burst out laughing when I thought about it. It was like one of the plays Alexandra made me see, where everybody was just too sophisticated and made pretty speeches when they caught their spouse cheating. 

 

I had a feeling Alexandra had already told him something, because young Mr. Parsons kept saying that they wouldn't get in our way. He wasn't good looking like George was, a plain, earnest young fellow with too long hair and a funny little beard. I left there thinking he really loved her. He even said that he'd begged her to let him support her and not ask Robin or I for any money. Alexandra was in love, but she wasn't going to try being poor again, not even for that. 

 

When we left there, Robin and I didn't discuss the future. He touched my hand once when no one could see. I squeezed back and that was it. 

 

The next two games were magic. I was holding back a little, letting the relief pitcher, Ewell Blackwell, take over once the game was nearly won. After every game, cramps hit me, worse than I'd had when I first came back from the war. My whole arm would ache. Robin and I would sit in a therapeutic bath just like President Roosevelt used to use while I leaned my head back, tears running down my face from the pain. Finally, it would ease up to the point when Robin could massage the muscles loose and I could talk without a scream fighting to get out. Then I would go to the little apartment and see Jake with his nana. 

 

The last game of the season, my arm was aching, but I looked up and the wisp of cloud I saw went away. I grinned. I was going to do it. I met Robin's gaze where he sat in the bleachers and winked, giving him thumbs up. I looked every batter in the eye, smirking at them, making them think I knew something about how that bat was going to be too heavy to lift. I had the eye, the timing, the speed, and for this one last time, the arm. 

 

I played with my heart and soul. I heard the crowd roar as each player went down. When I looked up, there was not one person in that crowd who wasn't with me. I could see Robin's arm tensing as if he was sending his strength into my arm. Jake was laughing, catching sunbeams and he wouldn't remember being here, but I could tell him. I'd tell him he was here when daddy pitched the no hitter. 

 

Finally, the last batter was up, by this time, my arm was screaming, but I had asked not to be relieved. I wanted it to be all mine, and Coach Bill understood. I wound up and the pain was the farthest thing from my mind. The ball shot from my arm; the air whistling around it. It sounded like a bullet shooting from a gun, but that didn't bother me anymore. I saw the player strike. One. I grinned at the man, who spat nonchalantly, but I could see he was sweating. 

 

My curve ball was the most elegant thing I had ever thrown. It dived and spun before straightening. He made a tentative swing and the umpire called strike two. The man turned to argue and the ump threw out his chest and called it again. 

 

I was the king of the mound. The sun was on my hair like a crown. The pain in my arm didn't matter. My whole body was singing as I waited for the call to be settled. Finally, after a brief argument, the league official walked away with a wink at me. The umpire said scornfully, "Strike two." 

 

The opposing team's coach was talking urgently to the player, but whatever plan he put together wouldn't do any good. The man was rattled. My cheeks puffed and I was grinning at him like an imp. 

 

Winding up, I remembered the hawks that Jake showed me, the feel of the prairie wind through my hair. I wondered if Ben would read about this game and remember that Mac Smith's name was really Tony Edwards? 

 

Another fast ball, this one with more heat than I had ever put into a ball. It was a good ball, right over the plate, but I don't think there was a player born that could have hit that ball. Certainly, the one at bat didn't. He tried, but spun totally around. When he came back to face me, he doffed his cap. At first there was a silence in the stadium, and then it was like a wind picking up speed until it became a roar. 

 

I had done it. I had pitched a perfect game. Robin came running down into the field as soon as the game was called. He hugged me and I yelped. My arm was swollen from the shoulder to the wrist. I didn't need a doctor to tell me that I had given my last bit of heart into this perfect game. Yet, I didn't care. I had what I wanted. No one could ever take that away from me. Me, Tony Edwards, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks in Cleveland Ohio had pitched a major league no hitter. 

 

Two weeks after that last game, we went to another judge. Robin had planned it carefully for when this man was on the bench. I didn't ask, but I knew Robin knew a lot of men like him, but who were hiding behind loveless marriages, or taking care of sick parents. The judge signed the divorce papers as soon as he was sure that the custody thing was solid. He didn't even raise a brow that the father was keeping the child not the mother... 

 

Not long after that, I drove Alexandra to the airport and said goodbye. She cupped my cheek and kissed me, saying, "He deserves you, Tony, you be good to him and be happy. Don't let anyone make you regret what you have!" 

 

"You be happy too and come and see us sometime. I want Jake to know you, Alexandra," I said. 

 

The plane took off, and I walked back to the car. On the way home, we stopped for a picnic. Jake was just walking by then, running really. If he liked baseball, he was going to have no trouble running to home base. The kid never stopped. 

 

I heard a bird cry overhead, and I looked up. Two hawks wheeling in lazy circles. Once in a while their wings would touch, and they would cry together; a strange sound, but somehow I knew they were mates. They weren't even hunting, just drifting on warm air rising from the bluff where we stood. The sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. I grinned as Robin took my hand and squeezed it. 

 

Ben was right. You could make all the clouds disappear, if you start with the small ones and just concentrate. 

 

The end


End file.
